Tom's face flushed crimson, and darting upon Dick, he gave him a
sudden push. Alas! he was near to the open door. Dick screamed, threw
up his arms, and in a moment was gone. Tom's heart stood still, and an
icy chill crept over him from head to foot. At first he could not
stir; then--he never knew how he got there, but he found himself
standing beside his little friend. Some men were raising him carefully
from the hard sidewalk.

"Is he dead?" almost screamed Tom.

"No," replied one, "we hope not. How did he fall out?"

"He didn't fall," groaned Tom, who never could be so mean as to tell a
lie, "I pushed him out."

"_You_ pushed him, you wicked boy," cried a rough voice. "Do you know
you ought to be sent to jail, and if he dies, maybe you'll be hung."

Tom grew as white as Dick, whom he had followed into the store, and he
heard all that passed as if in a dream.

"Is he badly hurt?" cried some one.

"Only his hands," was the answer. "The rope saved him, he caught hold
of the rope and slipped down; but his hands are dreadfully torn--he
has fainted from pain."

Just then Tom's father came in, and soon understood the case. The look
he gave at his unhappy son, so full of sorrow, not unmingled with
pity, was too much for Tom, and he stole out, followed by the faithful